Tag Archives: Death

Life Goes On in 2016

The past year has been quite a roller coaster of emotions.

Last year we were informed that my sister-in-law had major surgery the week of Christmas. What was suppose to be a three hour surgery turned in to a marathon eight hour surgery.

The year before we were told my sister-in-law had cervical cancer. She was informed while she was pregnant and decided to go through with the pregnancy and had a beautiful baby girl. After the birth she began her radiation and chemotherapy treatments.

In January of 2016 we had a tumultuous New Year’s when our old car broke down on the freeway and we finally called in our family favor and got a new car thanks to my brother-in-law who works for a car dealership. It was his wife who was sick. We had hardly spoken to him or his wife about her illness. It wasn’t until we spoke with some of his colleagues that we were reassured that he had people who he could talk to about what he and their family were going through. We had always been concerned and attempted to talk to them both about what was going on with them but they were always very private and guarded.

I never blamed them for not wanting to talk to us about it. What did we know? How could we even begin to understand what they were going through? We don’t have children. They both have kids from previous relationships and new baby girl together. We lived in the city and they lived in the suburbs. We lived very different lives beyond those small things and it felt like this made the divide even wider. My sister-in-law and I were similar in some ways, but very different people and saw the world very differently. We were cordial to each other but not very close. My husband and his brothers were close, but the wives were a different story. We tried. We attempted. We just never seemed to find anything in common except for loving our husbands and our families.

My sister-in-law had always been a little vain. I remember the first time we met at a Mother’s Day brunch for my mother-in-law and she complained about the one grey hair she found and was trying to hide it. She was always well dressed for any occasion, whereas I had reused the same black dress for over a dozen family weddings. She always bought thoughtful gifts and we tried to figure who we could afford to get gifts for every Christmas. We may not have always gotten along but I respected her for always doing her best for her children and family and making my brother-in-law happy.

Then the news got worse. Multiple hospital visits. Emergency surgeries. Wheelchairs. Hair wraps and wigs. A colostomy bag.

She was in the hospital for almost a week when Mother’s Day came along. The entire family visited her in the hospital for the holiday. That was when I finally realized things were not going to get better. She could no longer walk on her own. She couldn’t hug or hold her daughter without assistance. I finally saw how much hair she had lost.

The day after she was released from the hospital we celebrated their daughter’s second birthday party at their home with immediate family. If things weren’t already heart breaking that was the day I wanted to scream. I don’t know how she did it but she walked. She stood in front of that birthday cake and had us sing “Happy Birthday” several times in a row. She must have been on a giant cocktail of drugs and had the iron will of a giant to push through all the pain she must have been experiencing and do everything she could for her daughter. We all realized this would be the last birthday party she would be able to attend for any or her children.

The rest of the summer we spent every spare minute visiting and bringing groceries for the family. Every weekend. Every summer holiday. We spent every moment with our family knowing that every moment counted. August was the hardest month. There were a few days when she wouldn’t wake up because she was in so much pain. The family gathered in vigil fearing the worst.

Then she suddenly had a burst of energy and was requesting her favorite foods. One day I came by after work bringing groceries that included artichokes. They were her favorite and she began to tell me how she made a dipping sauce for them. She asked if I could make them for her. I had never successfully made artichokes in my life. I did my best to not fuck it up. She called out to me while I was over and we talked about foods we both liked and how to cook them. It was the best conversation I’d ever had with her. When I got home I broke down in tears.

They had a hospice nurse helping them for a few weeks, but then the nurse said there was nothing else they could do to help and they stopped coming by. I was fearful of the kids being home alone should something happen. I started to go by the house everyday. Cleaning. Playing with the two year-old. Talking to the boys. Talking to her.

The day she passed away she was surrounded by family in her home. We got a phone call at  4 am that it happened. We rushed over to be with the family. We were all there when the coroners came to take her. We spent the next week together in mourning. Some preparing for the funeral. Others just coming to terms living in world without her.

After the funeral and after the reception we ended the night at their home with all of our family singing karaoke. That night my two year-old niece learned how to sing Prince’s “Purple Rain” all by herself. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen and the most heart breaking moment realizing her mother didn’t get to witness it. Some people mourn in silence. That evening we mourned singing together at the top of our lungs following my niece’s lead.

Singing. Loving. Making new memories. Reliving old memories.

There isn’t a day that goes by that I haven’t thought about her. Remembered her. My niece is the living embodiment of her mother. Her memory lives on in her.


After the election these memories are even more important to me. Hearing how people are being treated and how words of hate are being used more and more against the people they are suppose to love makes it harder to stay silent.

Love each other. Cherish each other. This holiday season every memory counts.



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Life, Death, and Health care

I recently sat down to watch one of my favorite shows Real Time with Bill Maher, and found the discussion about health care intriguing. Bill Maher touched on something that I had been dwelling on: Death. How is health care reform going to change how the elderly are dealt with? By “dealt with” I mean as a person gets older they need more and more care that some families cannot afford, even if they have health care. If someone is old and dying should everything be done to help keep them living? Or should every option be explored to ensure their death is respectable? There is a difference between the two options, a very large difference that many people do not understand or really talk about until the moment is upon them.

The reason I linger on this touchy subject is due to the recent deaths in our families that made me realize how much more difficult it is to care for the elderly.  Earlier this year my boyfriends’ family suffered the loss of their grandmother, or Lola, as she was referred to in Tagalog. When I met her a few years ago she was already very old and frail. She had to be helped or carried by family members to get in and out of a car, to be seated in a chair with her feet raised and couldn’t get around very easily, or at all, by herself. She still had a strong mind, and when I was introduced to her for the second time she complained, “I know who she is!”

When she had a stroke the whole family, including us, ran to the hospital waiting room and spent almost everyday over the next week visiting her in the hospital. Turns out she had a blood clot in her brain that caused the stroke, one side of her face was slightly paralyzed, and she could no longer walk, or speak full sentence. She also had to be spoon fed soft foods because it was difficult for her to chew. To add insult to injury, as soon as she was released from the hospital a few weeks later she was rushed back. This happened quite often. Every couple of months the family got phone calls saying she was headed back to the hospital and every time we all feared the worst. This went on for over a year.

Their Lola has a very dedicated, close knit and caring family. It also helped that one of her daughters is a doctor, a few of them are nurses, and she even has grandchildren who are nurses, as well as one who is a lawyer. Some of them worked at the hospital she was admitted to. All of them stayed at her beside every night, taking turns in shifts to ensure someone was with her every minute and keeping open communication with her doctor and nurses. I witnessed the doctor being approached by several relatives as he explained, patiently and repeatedly, her current condition. She had the best care possible, but my heart still sank every time it happened.

I saw her suffer. I saw her family suffer. And worst of all I witnessed how she slowly slipped away. One of the most intense moments was the family meeting that was called at the hospital one evening while everyone was visiting. All of her children discussed what her options were. All of the grandchildren were later informed that the doctors were ordered to resuscitate if Lola went into cardiac arrest. Her children were still discussing whether or not to keep that order. They also informed everyone Lola had a toe that was gangrene, and they were consulting with her doctor to see if they needed to cut the toe off. Lola was very weak, and they didn’t know if she would survive the surgery. Lola was asked what she wanted and we were told she wanted to keep her toe.

As the months passed, we tried to stay positive, and visit her as often as we could. Lola had another stroke, and the gangrene toe spread to her foot, then to her ankle. By then she was took weak to survive the doctors amputating the foot. She was taken care of by her family at home, and the living room was converted in to a fully stocked nursing station. She had a catheter and an IV, as well as a heart monitoring system to ensure she was doing okay. Again, the family watched over her every day in shifts, so she was never alone. When she could speak, she told her family that she was ready to die and she no longer wanted to suffer, or make her family suffer. One of her sons was with her the whole time. He lived with her, quit his job and took care of her full-time . He sacrificed the most out of everyone.

I can’t remember when we saw her last, but a week after our last visit she passed away. She was at home being taken care of by her children. One of the daughters was on her way to the house for her shift when she got a phone call to go home and rest instead of coming over. Anther daughters had just left and the son who lived with Lola was the only one present when she passed away. Lola was a strong-willed and compassionate soul. I was grateful to have met her and witness the love and care her family gave her. It hurt to watch her slowly slip away, and it was reassuring to watch her whole family care for her and mourn her death. Most of this information was gathered and shared by family members, stories told at her funeral, and what I was able to experience myself.

The other monumental death in my life was my great-grandfather, from my father’s side, which happened a few years ago and had similar circumstances, but had a completely different outcome. He was in his mid-nineties still working full-time at a shoe repair shop, walking, talking, and attending all the family parties. One day, while at a bar for a friend’s birthday party, I got a phone call from my father, who never calls, saying my great-grandfather was admitted to the hospital because he had a stroke. I dropped everything and went to the hospital with the rest of my family. He looked so frail and sick I almost left crying because I couldn’t bear to see him in this state. He had an oxygen mask on to ensure he was breathing properly, but he kept trying to take it off because the air was too cold for him. I asked the nurses if it was okay for me to remove it for a bit because he was so uncomfortable, and they advised me not to. I took it off any way, for a few moments so we could talk and I put the mask back after we finished speaking, but it was still hard to understand anything because it was difficult for him to speak at all. We were told he was too weak to walk on his own and would need constant care due to his age.

The original family plan was to take my great-grandfather to a nursing home to get the care he needed. No one in my family is a doctor, a nurse, or even a dental hygienist. He was admitted to a local nursing home close to the family so we could visit him. I sadly did not get to visit him while he was there due to school and work obligations at the time, and visiting hours were always during my classes. I made sure to visit him almost everyday when he was in the hospital because I wasn’t in school at the time.

Months go by before I hear anything from my father or other family members about my great-grandfather’s health and condition. The next phone call I get is my father saying my great-grandfather had passed away. Apparently, some of his children felt the nursing home was too expensive and they opted to care for him at home. I was told he wasn’t taken care of very well and he slowly withered away. It was hard for me to hear that he died this way, but not surprising. My father’s family also isn’t very close, and there tends to be a lot of drama related anger toward one another. I don’t know if I believe that was how he passed away, but it makes me feel sad that I never got to see him again outside of the hospital not hooked up to a machine.

He was the nucleus of the family, and once he passed away it was hard to get the family together for anything. Within the last two years the family has started to arrange small informal family reunions to ensure everyone stays in contact. These events still bring out the drama. One of my uncles decided to announce that my 17 year-old cousin was pregnant.

My father’s side of the family and my boyfriends’ family have very different methods of dealing with a death in the family. Not only did the type of healthcare they had affect how they were allowed to die, but the families also played a large part in how it played out. Great health insurance doesn’t guarantee a peaceful death, and a caring family can’t keep someone from suffering. The decisions we make on someone’s behalf when they are on the brink of death can be crucial and difficult to discuss. I just hope that someday my death will be peaceful, or least quick and painless. I have often heard my mother saying, “Just unplug me if doesn’t look good. Don’t let me suffer.” I tend to feel the same way. Even if I have not officially written my Last Will and Testament, I at least hope no one suffers or prolongs what is always inevitable. Too many see it as a burden, and not as part of the experience of life.

Death is part of life. Health insurance and family baggage make it more complicated than it should be.

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